


Homecoming

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Kissing, Making Out, Newlywed Fili, Nudity, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili's new wife welcomes him home from a journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

The kitchens of Erebor were bustling with activity. Cooks rushed to and fro, fires glowed beneath simmering pots, ovens sent out puffs of searing heat when their doors were opened, and delicacies of all sorts were in various stages of preparation, filling the room with mouthwatering scents.

You stood in the midst of this energetic hum of productivity, conferring with the head cook about the menu for the much-anticipated feast to come, and were attempting to calm his fears that the Elven guests might not care for custard with their apple tarts when your sister-in-law suddenly appeared, breathless, all sparkling eyes and swirling auburn hair.

“They’re here,” she beamed, and a relieved smile broke over your own face as you made your apologies to the cook and followed Tauriel from the kitchen.

“When did they arrive?” You hurried to keep up with her long strides through the halls.

“Only moments ago,” she answered, looking as giddy as you’d ever seen her, and you grinned, feeling your own lightness of heart match hers as you eagerly anticipated the first sight of your husband in three weeks.

You’d been bitterly disappointed when Thorin had decided that Fili and Kili should be among the delegation to accompany him to Mirkwood for a fortnight’s visit to further trade negotiations. Fili had pleaded his newlywed status as excuse, but Thorin was adamant that the heirs of Durin should attend him, and so it was that, after mere weeks of wedded bliss, you had found yourself standing at Erebor’s gates to bid your golden prince goodbye with an equally unhappy Tauriel at your side.

Now, the delegation had returned to the mountain, bringing with them King Thranduil and his entourage for a reciprocal visit, and you rushed to properly greet the King’s guests. Your mother-in-law, the Lady Dis, was already in her place in the grand entrance hall, waiting with a serene air, and greeted you both with a warm smile.

“Just in time,” she gestured to the sundrenched road outside where the party made its way toward the massive stone gates, and your eyes strained for a glimpse of Fili as you took your place beside her.

At last, they stood before you, ranged in a row with Thorin in the center, Fili and Kili on his right, and the stately Elvenking and two of his solemn-faced attendants on his left. Behind them, Thranduil’s remaining companions seemed to glide gracefully into the hall, accompanied by a cheerful Balin, Ori, laden with books and scrolls, and Dwalin, wearing a sour expression that told plainly that he’d had his fill of Elvish hospitality.   

Following Dis’ lead, you dutifully swept a deep, formal curtsy to the pair of kings, but you only had eyes for Fili, handsome and windblown in his rich brown traveling coat with its collar of soft, luxurious fur, his golden marriage beads glinting among the braids of his blond hair. He seemed to you to have brought the sunshine inside with him, and dimples shadowed his bearded cheeks as he bowed and smiled at you, his face alight with the pleasure of seeing you again.

With the formal greeting complete and a small nod from Thorin, the Dwarves broke ranks and Fili strode to embrace you, enveloping you in the scent of fresh air and new grass that lingered about him from his travels.

“Oh, _amrâlimê_ ,” you whispered against his cheek, “I’ve missed you so.”

“I missed you more, my One,” he murmured, grazing your forehead with his lips.

His hands, warm and calloused, moved to cradle your face, and he winked reassuringly, reveling with you in the comfort that he was home at last. When you lay down this night, it would be in his arms, and when you woke the next morning you would see his face, and the joy of it made your heart swell, feeling as though you could be content to simply stand and look at him forever.

“Fili.” Thorin’s deep voice rumbled, breaking into your happy thoughts, and you and Fili both turned to face him.

“With me,” he continued briskly. “We must introduce King Thranduil to the council before the feast.”

Fili turned back to you, one corner of his mouth tugged upward by a wistful smile. “I’ll see you at supper,” he said, raising your hand to his lips before following Thorin.

The rest of the group began to disperse, leaving you standing in the entrance hall to catch Fili’s last glance as he disappeared down the corridor. Only Kili and Tauriel remained, looking sympathetically at you, suddenly guilty in their joyful embrace.

“Well, go on, you two, don’t delay your reunion on my account,” you chuckled knowingly as you waved them off, earning a blush from Tauriel. “I shall occupy myself with dressing for the feast.”

* * *

If you had hoped that the evening’s festivities might allow a few stolen moments of close conversation with Fili, you had thus far been sorely mistaken. Protocol had dictated that you partner one of King Thranduil’s advisors at supper while Fili escorted his wife, and you’d spent the meal with only Fili’s furtive, smoldering glances able to reach you from the opposite end of the table while you both entertained your respective guests.

Even now, when the dishes had been cleared away and hosts and guests alike were milling about the Great Hall, their mingling accompanied by cheery music, you found to your dismay that you were kept occupied with meeting various members of the Elvenking’s retinue.

“I hope your journey from Mirkwood was pleasant?” You smiled brightly, dragging your wandering eyes back to the Elf before you as you politely sipped the light, crisp wine that King Thranduil had contributed to the welcoming feast, so different from the sweeter, thicker varieties produced in Erebor.

“Indeed. We were thankful for fair weather,” he replied cordially.

A familiar face flashed into your field of vision with a shifting in the crowd, and your eyes met Fili’s between the shoulders of the two Elves with whom he was speaking. The shadow of a smile played about his lips, and he held your gaze, riveting your attention before glancing pointedly at the vast, arched doorway of the Hall. Curiously, you watched him bow himself free of the little knot of guests and stroll casually in the direction of the door, greeting people as he went, before disappearing into the outer corridor.

You suppressed a grin as you smoothly returned your attention to your companion, listening with a sympathetic nod to the tale of the unseasonable rain they’d been experiencing in Mirkwood and the proliferation of mushrooms that had come of it. When the conversation lulled, you took the opportunity to set your wineglass on a nearby table and smile apologetically.

“Would you excuse me? It’s terribly warm in here…I believe I could do with some air.”

The Elf gave a graceful inclination of his head and moved off toward the head table, where Balin was deep in conversation with the Elvenking. For your part, you meandered through the assembly, stopping for a smile or a quick word here and there, always aiming for the doorway. At last, with a final, secretive glance around the room, you slipped quietly from the Hall.

The cavernous corridor outside was empty, and your footsteps on the stone floor seemed loud in the stillness as you walked slowly, wondering, looking around you with keen eyes as the chatter and music of the party gradually faded from your ears.

Just as you passed a shadowy cleft in the rock wall, a hand darted out, encircling your wrist, and before you could gasp, you were whirled into a small alcove and into Fili’s arms.

“You frightened me!” Your voice was a scolding whisper, but your feeble attempt at a stern look melted away into a giddy grin in the face of his mischievous smirk and strong embrace, and a small, whimpering squeak escaped you as he pressed his lips to yours, warm and fervent and breathtaking. 

His kiss sent flames of desire licking throughout your body, and your hands pawed at him, stroking through his hair, clutching the fabric of his coat, grasping his hips to press them to your own, seeking the closeness that you’d craved during his absence.

“Oh, _azyungâl_ ,” he sighed between kisses, his hands roaming over your back, tangling in your hair, “I dreamt of you every night… _ached_ with wanting you…lying alone in my bed imagining your lovely body beneath me, around me…” 

He guided your hand to the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, as though to offer proof of his claim, and you needed no further encouragement to caress him than the muffled groans torn from his throat by your touch.

“Fili,” you mewled, and his lips blazed a trail over your chest, tracing the low neckline of your gown with hot kisses, making you dizzy with want as he pressed you further into the alcove, the stone wall cold against your back and Fili’s heated body at your front.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, coming closer, and you both froze, flattening yourselves against the wall, hiding in the shadows until a guard passed. Fili’s eyes flickered to the corridor and back to you, and you stifled a guilty giggle.

“Come with me,” he whispered, with a grin.

“Where?”

“Home. I can’t wait another moment to make love to you.”

You smiled, biting your lip in sweet anticipation. 

“Then take me home.”

* * *

The echoes of your mingled moans hung in the air of your bedchamber and Fili collapsed into your arms, bearing his weight on his forearms while he lay his head on your still-heaving chest, his hot, panting breaths fanning over your skin.

“Now I am well and truly home,” he murmured breathlessly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“Indeed,” you chuckled, your fingers lazily feathering over his sweat-dampened back with long, gentle strokes as his heart drummed insistently against your own. 

You lay quietly in blissful oneness, listening to slowing breaths, mapping heated skin with soothing caresses, savoring the heady weariness of sated bodies, and at last Fili withdrew with a regretful sigh, lying on his side to look at you with dreamy elation in his eyes.

“How about a bath?”

“Mmm, yes,” you agreed, and he leaned to kiss you lightly, with a grin against your lips. 

“I’ll go and draw it.”

He dragged himself from the bed and walked to the bathroom with your appreciative eyes skimming over his broad back, the taut curve of his bottom, his sturdy legs, and you smiled to yourself and stretched, catlike, contentment flooding your veins just as desire had done before it. Feeling pleasantly limp, you lounged on the pillows, listening to the rushing of water through the pipes that carried it from one of Erebor’s many hot springs and to Fili humming a lighthearted tune in the bathroom while bottles of scented oils clinked gently against the polished stone of the bathtub.

When the water stopped, you kicked the bedcoverings into a careless pile and wandered into the bathroom, twisting your hair into a loose knot as you went. Fili was already in the large tub, reclining against its sloping side with a beckoning smile, and you slipped eagerly into the water and floated to greet him with a kiss before turning around to sit between his thighs, your back resting on the solid warmth of his chest. His hands slid over your skin along with the herb-scented water to enfold you in his arms, his lips brushed your temple as you lay your head on his shoulder with a sigh.

“Will Thorin be furious that we left the party?”

“Let him,” Fili said wearily. “For more than a fortnight, I’ve been the heir to the throne, nephew to the King, diplomat to the Elves. Tonight I wish only to be your husband…to show you the love and respect that is your due.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” you teased, sliding your hands over his legs, feeling the hair that covered them turned silky in the water.

“What makes you think I’m finished?” He nipped playfully at your ear, and you cringed away, laughing, from the tickle of his whiskers while he held you more tightly in his arms’ grip.

The ripples stirred up in the water by his mischief settled again to glassy smoothness, and you laced your fingers with his over your stomach.

“What’s Mirkwood like?”

“Stuffy,” he mused. “Cold and formal. Though, King Thranduil’s guest chambers are a good deal more comfortable than his dungeons.”

“I should hope he would offer you the best rooms he has, after his former hospitality.”

He nodded, chuckling wryly. “We were well-fed, even Dwalin had to admit to it…the Mirkwood Elves are fond of meat, at least. Their musicians are very skilled. And the Elven women…”

A sharp, expectant look from you, and his mouth twitched with an impish smirk as his hands drifted admiringly over the curves of your hips. “…Cannot hold a candle to the beauty and wit of my wife.”

With a little huff of laughter, you sat up and turned around to face him, twining your legs around his hips and enjoying the lustful clouding of his eyes when you tensed your feet against his backside to pull him close to you. Brushing his damp hair aside, you draped your arms around his neck to capture his lips with your own.

“Cheeky,” you said, with pretended chiding, “I shall definitely require more of your ‘love and respect’ after that.”

“As often as you like,” he grinned, his hands sliding beneath your bottom to lift you onto his lap. “Right here, if you like.”

“Tempting, _amrâlimê_ ,” you sighed, smiling. “But first…turn around.”

His brow creased in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me.” You twirled your finger imperiously to draw a circle in the air.

Reluctantly, he released you and turned to sit facing away from you, crossing his legs before him. Gathering his hair over one shoulder, you leaned to press a kiss to the crook of his exposed neck before reaching for a curved bottle of blue-tinted glass, carefully pouring a small amount of the oil within into your hand. Its warm, spicy scent floated on the humid air as you rubbed it between your palms, and you smiled at the small groan that escaped him when you began to knead the muscles of his shoulders, knotted from days spent clutching a pony’s reins.

Your hands glided lovingly over his back, massaging its rippling muscles, washing away tension with the warm water you poured over his skin, feeling him relax under your ministrations. Your fingers pressed and dug and coaxed tight sinews into pliability…and lingered, gentle, to trace the garish, jagged scar that marred the skin just below his shoulder blade and sobered you with its reminder of how close he’d come to never being yours. One hand slipped under his arm, splayed on his chest to hold him gratefully while you leaned to gild the scar with a reverent kiss, and his hand closed over it with a knowing grasp.

Fili turned to look at you again, reaching to stroke your cheek, to cradle your head in his palm while you closed your welling eyes and accepted the wordless promise in his kiss: _I’m here, and always will be_.

“If Thorin wishes to take you on any more journeys, he may have to take me as well,” you warned him, opening your eyes to look into his.

“I’ve no plans to leave you again,” he promised, his dimples deepening with a fond smile.

“You’d better not have,” you whispered against his lips, “I’m still enjoying welcoming you home.”

Fili’s smile broadened, and he reached to draw you effortlessly onto his lap again, settling you close against him, the stirring of his body at your nearness sending a bolt of tingling warmth through your veins.

“Such a welcome,” he murmured huskily, trailing his lips over your jawline, “is _almost_ worth going away.”


End file.
